nine2five 2,3 Who's There
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: Introducing Vivian Volkoff. I'm combining parts of different episodes to make it all work. The Author's Note has more details.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **I have realized that the only way to proceed with this season is to abandon the dross of S4 and focus on the parts that are needed. Episodes like Cubic Zirconium and Coup D'Etat are pretty useless, while Seduction Impossible are completely valueless, as far as nine2five is concerned. The first 13 episodes are a separate story from the last 11, but they are related, so I'm integrating them as best I can. While the third episode of the first 13 (CZ) is mostly useless, the third episode of the last 11 (Masquerade) is mostly not, so I'm using that one for the most part, with a few elements from CZ mixed in. Hopefully you won't be able to tell which ones without rewatching canon. As far as I can tell, my season 4 will run about 16 episodes. I may be able to work in some fluff, but no promises.

* * *

"_Sarah, wake up." _

"_Now aren't you glad I didn't shoot you?"_

"_You look like the sort to buy off the rack."_

_"I've never been so glad to see Morgan proven wrong."_

* * *

Casey never knocked. He demanded entrance, with varying degrees of lack of subtlety, and he usually got his way. "All right, Grimes, out with it," he barked as he walked through the doors of Morgan's little domain, the kitchen at the B&B where he made breakfast in the morning. "What's so important it has to cut into my range time?"

Morgan turned and shushed Casey to silence, gesturing urgently.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Grimes?"

Morgan snatched up a plate of pancakes and put it on the table. "Hear, sit down, pretend like you're my guest." He turned and watched the cutout in the wall anxiously.  
"I _am_ your guest," said Casey, taking the syrup. Grimes may be acting crazy, but he knew how to make a good pancake.

"Exactly! Just like that." He came up close, and lowered his voice. "We can't meet at the restaurant anymore."

"We haven't met at the restaurant _yet_." Casey shoved a huge helping of pancake into his mouth.

Morgan ignored the distinction, if he even heard it. "There's something weird going on at the restaurant, Colonel. After what you said last night I was keeping an eagle eye out. Some of my wait staff are like, outer space aliens or something."

Casey pretended to consider, while shoveling the pancakes into his mouth with a steady rhythm.

_Ninety-nine percent drivel._

_That CIA loony-bin doesn't allow visitors, does it?_

_It would break Alex' heart._

_One percent brilliance._

"All right, Grimes," he said, putting his fork down on his now-empty plate. "I'll come by your place tonight. You can show me. But you know what they did to the boy who cried wolf?"

He'd never played that video game. "Um…no."

Neither did Casey. "Well, it'll be nothing compared to what I do to the nerd who cries 'alien'."

* * *

Frost never knocked. She announced herself. "You have a task for me, Alexei?" The guards outside closed the doors, quite certain that they didn't want to hear what went on in the boss' office.

Alexei Volkoff turned his chair as she stopped in front of his desk. "Yes, Frost," he said in his curious accent, part British, part…avalanche. "Our traitor is proving himself more troublesome than I'd hoped."

No surprise. "Boris was one of our best."

"Indeed," agreed Volkoff. _The_ best, after Frost herself. He looked around his office dispassionately. "I'd expected him to be one of the few contenders for my throne after I'd gone, but his misguided strike against you has forced him out into the open." He handed her a flash drive. "Some of my lieutenants have gone dark. Take Packard and his team and find out what's happening."

She took the drive but didn't leave at the dismissal. "You think he's moving against you?"

Volkoff chuckled. "Against me? No. He knows if he did that he'd have to go up against you and he'd never win that." If only because Volkoff would send an army after him if Frost herself were killed. Then he lost his smile, wintry though it had been. "No, I think he's playing a longer game. He's not after me, he's after my future."

"Your future?"

Volkoff wasn't _that_ trusting. "Never you mind, Frost. My future is quite secure, and quite safe, but if Boris continues there may be no Volkoff Industries _in_ that future, and that I just cannot allow." He smiled at her. "You'll fix that for me, won't you, Frost?"

* * *

Sarah entered without knocking, just as if she were home, which, in a way, she was. Chuck was her home, and this place was built around him, for him. Protective and protected, just like her. The woman at its heart was just like–well, not just like her. Ellie was devoted to Chuck, too. Ellie had made him the man he was today, and she stood by him just as Sarah did, keeping him at his best in every way possible.

"Hey, Sarah," said her sister-in-law, turning at the sound of the door, striking a pose that emphasized a figure that was no longer as slim and trim as it used to be.

Ellie was a wife, and Ellie was…not a spy. Sarah mustered a smile she did not feel. "You wanted to see me, Ellie?"

"Yeah." Ellie completed her turn, hiding her body's changes from those who weren't looking for it. "I just wanted to let you know that this upload will include the first files from Dad's repository." The ones he'd bothered to type out, before he realized he wasn't writing for anyone but himself. Later files were in longhand and would have to be transcribed.

For a second Sarah stopped, wondering if one of those files would have a list of Orion's secret hideouts, but then she realized that Ellie probably wasn't bringing it up for that reason. "How do you think he'll take it?"

Ellie shrugged. "No way to tell. He was nine when our mother left, and most of these files will be about her, and Dad's search for her. He could take heart from that, or it could…"

"It could destroy whatever heart he has left, is that what you're saying?"

Ellie sought refuge behind her desk, sitting in her chair. "What I'm saying is that this would be a really good time for him to be reminded how much family he has with him right now."

"When will you do it?"

"After the briefing. If there's one thing Chuck's experience with Carmichael taught us, it's that his emotional state affects the upload." Ellie paused, and Sarah nodded confirmation. "The briefings get him in a professional mood, which is good by itself, and possibly he may be primed to flash on items relevant to them."

Sarah smiled at the thought of a lab rat with a little General's hat on. "Are you scripting _them_, too?"

"Not yet," drawled Ellie, looking down. "Oh, God, I have to go to the bathroom again." She looked up at Sarah, and scrambled to get out of her chair. "I swear it has to be psychological, she's a peanut, she can't be really causing me this much trouble so soon." She walked around the desk and Sarah, who hastily backed out of her path as she raced for the door. "See you at the briefing."

Sarah waved, a little, then went to leave and go back to her–man, who would want to hear the latest about his sister. But what else could she do?

* * *

Casey lifted his hand, too late. Another second, and he might have been able to brace his arm, but as it was Sarah's kick pushed his padded forearm in as easily as Casey was trying to push it out. More easily in fact, since it moved right past his elbow and clouted him hard on the cheek.

"You're in a mood," he said over the sound of bells.

"Combat is supposed to be realistic."

Casey thought back to the last time he'd seen her angry. "So now I'm Heather Chandler?"

"Hyah!" she yelled, the only warning he got as she launched a blizzard of strikes that quickly drove him outside the practice circle. "I'm nothing like her!" she yelled before she realized what she'd just done, and stood down. "Not anymore."

Casey grunted. "Touched a nerve though, didn't I?" He stepped back into the circle.

"She had a husband who loved her, and now he's in Witness Protection while she's at Yucca Mountain."

"You reprioritized," said Casey, launching his own attack, which she easily blocked. "She didn't."

She stepped back. "You really think so?"

He stepped forward. "I know the signs."

"Signs of _what?_" Kick-strike-punch. "Oh, you mean the way you reprioritized Alex?"

"My priorities are the same." Punch-block-strike-ow! "God, country, duty, Corps. I call, but she's a grown woman. I don't know where I fit in her life."

"Would it have been easier if you'd been in her life from the beginning?"

Casey blocked that punch too. "Is that what this is about, you and the nerd, spawning?"

"Ellie's pregnant."

Casey snorted, and moved in. "And he's gonna be thinking about his own. That what you're worried about?"

"Are you kidding?" kick-punch. "He owes me twenty."

Casey's face twisted in disgust. "Twenty little nerdlings? How'd you get him to commit to _that_?"

_How high can Casey count?_ "I'll tell you sometime." When he was old and arthritic, significantly reducing the chances of killing her or her husband for holding him to ransom.

He grunted. "So he wants them, and you want them. I don't see the problem."

"I'm at my peak!" Strike-kick-punch-block-strike.

"I hate peaks." Casey shook his head to clear the ringing. "Only two things you can do when you've reached the top of the ladder, Bartowski. Go back down, or step off and start climbing a different ladder. Me, I'd rather go out while I'm on top." _'Cause going back down'll get you killed._ A bell rang. "Time."

* * *

"Team, we have a situation in Eastern Europe," said Beckman. "Last night, the CIA and NSA were supposed to coordinate with Interpol to take down three of Volkoff's top lieutenants. By the time we got their locations, they were already dead." The faces of the victims appeared on screen two.

"Suspects?" asked Carina over the speakerphone, because there were always suspects.

A face appeared on the second screen. "Interpol suspects this man, Boris Kaminsky, a top Volkoff enforcer, but it's unlikely that he's operating under orders in this matter. The three victims appear to have been key pieces in the Volkoff network."

"So he's a traitor?" Casey really hated traitors.

"Apparently so, although no one is quite sure why. Interpol is asking our help in this matter. They were impressed with the work we did for them regarding Miss Stefanova. Even though Sarah and Carina captured her, Chuck also provided a great deal of intel on her operations that they had somehow managed to miss." Beckman gave them a smug little smile of approval.

Chuck smiled back, naturally. "Glad I could help, General."

"Hopefully you'll be able to do even better this, time, Chuck. They haven't been able to provide us with any new information about their latest operations, so anything we can give them will show us in a very good light, internationally."

That prospect pleased Casey. "Show 'em how it's done, Bartowski."

"This looks like a good test scenario for the new procedure, General," said Ellie.

"What new procedure?" asked Carina.

"Uploads after the briefing, Agent Miller," said Beckman. "We've had some successes with flashes during the briefings, but we're hoping to increase that ratio."

"Dad said the flashes need a seed to form around, so hopefully the same holds true for the upload."

"So you're what, _aiming_ him? Are you sure that's safe?"

"We're map-making, Carina," said Ellie. "That's never safe."

Beckman almost smiled that Ellie remembered her own analogy. "Make yourself ready to leave your current assignment at a moment's notice, Agent Miller; Monaco will just have to live without you and your fashion contributions. It all depends on Chuck, now."

One side of Chuck's mouth twitched upward nervously. "But no pressure, right, General?"

"Didn't you hear me, Chuck? Of course there's pressure. Don't let your country down." She moved her hand and the screen went black.

"Wow, she has, like, no sense of humor, does she?"

"You just figured that out now, Bartowski?" sneered Casey. "The free world is doomed."

* * *

One Intersect upload later…

"How do you feel, Chuck?"

Chuck sat staring at his hands, not immediately entering his correlations in the log as was his wont. "It feels a little strange, sis."

'Strange' did not necessarily mean 'bad'. "How so, Chuck? Do we need to remove it?"

He moved his hands to the keyboard, and they started typing. "I don't think so, El. I'm not sure if it's me focusing the upload, or the fact that these are Dad's notes, but…I _feel_ like I wrote them. It's all very familiar to me, somehow."

Ellie hit the mute button to avoid distracting him, and pressed the intercom. "Manoosh, bring up the brain scan."

"You got it, boss."

"Why am I thinking of Somerset?" asked Chuck.

She unmuted him. "Where is that, Chuck?"

He typed quickly, recognized the map when he saw it. "Near Wales."

She skyped the names to Manoosh. "We'll start searching the dataset, especially Dad's additions. Probably it's nothing more than you knowing how Dad thinks, plus he coded the Intersect in the first place. Keep working. We've got the scanner on."

"Anything I should be doing in particular?"

"Nope, just lie back, and…think of England."

* * *

**A/N2 **An oldie, but a goodie. Let me know what you think of my approach. I'll try to keep the mixing and matching to a minimum, but I have a lot of changes, no matter what.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N **Well, there's muddling, and then there's muddling...

* * *

"_You know what they did to the boy who cried wolf?"_

"_How do you think he'll take it?"_

" _I'd rather go out while I'm on top."_

"_Lie back, and…think of England."_

* * *

"…And so, with the good king free and safe on his throne, the Frost Queen returned to her own land and family once more, a hero. And she promised her children that she would never, ever, leave them again." She closed the book. "Good story?"

He snuggled down in his bed, warm and safe. Any story was a good story when she was telling it. "The best, Mom." When she got out of his bed he suddenly felt cold, even as she was pressing the blankets closer around him. "Are you going away again?"

"Yes," she said from the doorway. "But only for a little while, then I'll be back home with you and Ellie forever."

"I love you, Mom."

"_Chuck?"_

"Not nearly as much as I love you." The door closed with a boom, and his mother was gone. Little Chuck leapt from his bed and opened it. The hall was long and empty and his mother was already far away. With every step he took toward her, the farther away she got.

"Mom!"

"_Chuck!"_

She opened another door at the far end. "Hello, Alexei. My name is Frost." In spite of the incredible distance between them, little Chuck could hear every word.

A man's hand reached out from the darkness and took hers, leading her away, into the darkness with him. "Hello Frost. Welcome to Volkoff Industries."

The door slammed shut behind her with the sound of doom.

* * *

"Ahhh!" His eyes opened wide as he shouted, his arms flailing about. Fortunately his chair was tilted back, otherwise his keyboard would have gone flying.

"Chuck, answer me!" shouted Ellie over the speaker.

He was…in his room. The Intersect room. His little bunker away from home. "I must have fallen asleep, El," he mumbled, tilting his chair vertical again. "Sorry. It was just a nightmare."

"No it wasn't, Chuck."

Not even sisterly authority stretched _that_ far. "Sis, I've seen enough nightmare dream sequences to recognize the special effects–"

"The scanner showed no alpha activity, Chuck. You weren't asleep, you weren't dreaming."

"That was a flash?"

"I would assume so. What was the content? You were thinking about Mom?"

He nodded, not that she could see it. "The night she left."

"So it was a memory?"

"Not unless our house had expanding corridors." He got up to get a drink. "I don't think Dad had invented those yet."

"Expanding corridors?"

"And a door, with Volkoff Industries on the other side."

The speaker made a noise, like someone humming.

Chuck knew that sound, although it usually had more frequencies than a standard speaker was able to transmit. "What are you thinking, sis?"

"I'm thinking…" she drawled out, and he imagined her writing something down on a piece of paper, even with a computer and three word-processing apps available. "You know, I don't know what I'm thinking. Who's Vivian McArthur, Chuck?"

"Why do you think I would know?"

"You wrote down her name while you were thinking about Mom."

Chuck went back to his chair. Sure enough there was the name, along with a bunch of other words and phrases. Unlike the others, though, which he would flesh out and eventually release to the analyst's pool for further action, he couldn't attach a meaning to it. It hung there, in his mind and on his screen, alone and unattached. "No idea. Have you tried Google?"

* * *

The briefing, part two.

"Volkoff Industries, through a variety of shell companies and other fronts–" Chuck put a graphic up on the screen that illustrated the complexity of the network "–is the sole owner and support of an English estate." More pictures, probably from a realtor's listing. "The manor is in Somerset, near the Welsh border, with no direct connections to London or the British political establishment, or _any_ political establishment, for that matter."

"Safe house?" guessed Casey.

"Residence."

"For who, Chuck?"

Another graphic, a girl's outline, a white silhouette on a black background, with only a name.

"Who the hell is Vivian McArthur?"

"That's exactly what we need to find out, Colonel Casey," said the General. "We ran the name through every database we have, CIA, NSA, ATF, DMV. She has no Facebook page, no twitter handle, and while Google has several listings, none of them are hers."

"If it is a her," added Chuck. "In England Vivian could also be a boy's name."

Casey couldn't care less about popular naming traditions in England, or indeed anywhere. Nobody gets to an English estate without a paper trail of some kind, unless they had lots of help. "How'd you twig to the estate, then?"

"Here's something you should appreciate, Casey," said Chuck. "The Orion data had a footnote. A single isolated datum with no connections to anything else."

"And you connected it anyway." Casey grunted, impressed. "How'd you manage it?"

"White pages."

It took them all a few seconds to translate the term. "The phone book?" asked Sarah, incredulous.

"Genius," said Carina. "Who'd ever think to look there?"

"Sometimes the simplest solutions are the best," added Chuck. "You remember, Sarah, how Hannah figured out the Ring was using our own communications protocols against us?"

"Right."

"Explain, Mr. Bartowski."

"Back when Hannah first started with us, General, she was tasked to upgrade the encryption in all the watches, but she forgot Sarah's. As a result, Sarah could hear the Ring agents communicate, using the old encryption scheme. They were hiding right behind us, so to speak. I can think of several other examples, like this comic book I read–"

"Moving on," said the General. "Following Chuck's lead, we have located in the local press a single current reference to the house in question. It will be the site of a fundraiser for a local equestrian charity in two days time. If this Kaminsky person is moving against Volkoff, he will quite likely be moving against anything Volkoff wants hidden as much as Miss McArthur is."

"What's the play?" asked Carina. "Alert Interpol?"

"No, Agent Miller. We'll have to keep them in the loop, obviously, but through slow channels. Let them keep their focus on Europe, and Volkoff's focus on them. We, meanwhile, will secure the party, ascertain the status of this McArthur person, male or female, and if the opportunity arises, take Boris Kaminsky into custody. Any questions?"

"Uh, yes, General," said Chuck immediately. "If they're going stag to this party, they'll have to bring their own gear. What is the dress code?"

* * *

Casey sat down at the table where Morgan was enjoying a little pre-work snack. "Okay, Grimes, I'm here. Now let's hurry this up, I've gotta catch the red-eye tonight."

"Sure thing, Colonel," said Morgan, pushing his dinner plate away. It hit the glass, slopping water everywhere. "Walk with me." He stood up, spilling crumbs from his napkin.

Casey followed, watching in disgust as his host absent-mindedly pulled the cloth from his collar and dumped it on some table while brushing his shirt, jacket, and even his beard free of detritus. Silently vowing never to eat here again, he checked six instinctively. "What the hell–?" He stopped short.

Morgan stopped shorter. "They done yet?" he muttered under his breath.

"'They' who?" asked Casey. "There's no one there."

"Exactly." Morgan turned, checking over his spotless domain, every setting perfect, every napkin folded just so, every chair placed with absolute precision.

"Spooky," breathed Casey.

"I bring my dinner from home," said Morgan. "I've been checking everywhere for pods, too, but no luck so far."

"Grow up, Grimes," said Casey. "You're gonna have to someday, may as well be now."

Morgan ducked his head nervously, snatched at his cuffs. "I happen to think looking for pod people is _very_ responsible," he muttered.

"In _Washington?_"

Morgan knew when he was beat. "Okay, you've got a point. So what do we do?"

"_We_ do nothing," growled Casey. "_You_ will do your job, and pretend nothing is wrong. _I_ will see some people I know."

"Who?" asked Morgan immediately. "Ghostbusters? NASA?"

Casey had about reached the limit of his creative powers. Lying was nothing to him, but lying to Morgan took work. "Top. Men."

"Oh, no," said Morgan, backing away. "That's what they said to Indiana Jones and look how that turned out. No infinite warehouse for me, thank you very much."

"Fine. You win." He pulled Morgan into the alcove by the bathroom, and whispered as much as he ever whispered, "I'm going to NASA to ask about recent impacts near here."

Morgan nodded, slapping Casey's chest in approval. "Now you're using your head."

"You did the right thing, coming to me with this, Grimes. We've got to play this cool, otherwise they'll just invade some other city."

"Now you're just messing with me, Colonel," scoffed Morgan. "You don't get do-overs on invasions, everybody knows that."

True enough. "Fine, you got me." Casey hurried to the door. "I'll be in touch."

"I'll be here," said Morgan. "Just, you know, hopefully not a zombie, or possessed." He was talking to air, and a swinging door.

Outside, Casey already had his phone to his ear. "General, we have a problem with Grimes…"

* * *

Chuck watched the woman in the mask walk away. "Muddled thyme, Casey? What the hell is muddling?"

"It's like what you do with all our national secrets, Bartowski, only I do it with thyme. You have to know that sort of thing to be a bartender, you know. Now shut up and be British. That's what you're here for."

Just as Chuck was about to point out the difficulty of being British without speaking, a woman appeared, asking for an extra wedge of lime. "Quite so," said Chuck, sounding all stiff and upper-crusty as he produced the requested item with his second-best smile.

"Thanks, love," she said, winking at him.

Chuck shuddered. "Now that's just creepy. Have I told you how much I hate masquerade parties?"

"Only all the way over here on a seven-hour flight."

"White wine? Certainly, madam," said Chuck, walking to the other end of the bar, and Casey left him to it as he checked in with rest of the team, out on the floor.

"I just met Boris," said Sarah, "Green and gold mask. No luck with Vivian."

"No luck on my end, either," said Carina. "And I do mean end. I've talked to a heart, two flowers, and far too many men who think a little mask and a lot of booze gives them license to be all handy."

"You're complaining?"

"Davis likes searching me for fingerprints, and I don't want him to find any."

* * *

Chuck felt confident he could handle a simple request for wine on his own. Flashing on bartending skills while maintaining his British demeanor gave him headaches. "Your wine, madam, although I must say I grow concerned about the vintage."

"Whatever for?" she asked. "It's excellent."

"Yet you don't seem to be enjoying the party."

"That's not the wine's fault." She leaned in close, and lowered her voice. "It's the masks. I can't help thinking of that awful movie."

"I agree," said Chuck, not having to fake his disdain. "Both bland and dreadful, and I count myself one of the man's legion of fans. I'd have a word with the hostess, if I were you. Do you know who she is?"

"I doubt anyone does," said the lady bitterly, into her glass.

Suddenly Casey groaned behind him, and Chuck turned, but whatever had caused the sudden fit passed just as quickly. He shook off Chuck's hand. "Boris is here, numb-nuts. We need to find Vivian before he does."

Chuck turned back to look over the crowd, to find an empty wine glass waiting for him. It had been full a second ago. He lifted it. "I think I already have."

* * *

"Explain to me why I'm here again?" shouted Chuck, hands over his ears as he hunkered down in the stable. He hoped the wall would be enough to stop a bullet, but prepared to throw himself over Vivian's body in case it wasn't.

"You're not British?" said Vivian.

Chuck shook his head. "I doubt that's it."

Even Sarah got a smile out of that one, but fortunately for her professional reputation she was turned away, looking for escape routes from the stables, and neither of them saw it before she forced it away. _That's why._ Vivian would hold it together for him, while _she_ did what she did best. Her face, when she looked for targets, was a mask of ice.

Sarah would protect the world for his sake.

"You're not a bartender either, are you?" asked Vivian.

"Was it that obvious?"

"Not to me. This is my first party." A hail of bullets blew chips from the walls around them. "And probably my last."

"Not if I can help it," said Chuck, kneeling in the hay as the bullets flew.

Sarah smiled again, listening to the man she loved, protecting the girl who still wanted to be able to throw a party.

Vivian ignored the kneeling and the hay, even the bullets. "So, you're going to make me throw more parties, are you?"

"I don't think that's even in the CIA's mandate. Sarah?"

"Parties are optional, Chuck." She squeezed off a single shot, her supply of bullets limited, but as long as it was larger than Boris' supply of henchmen she was okay with that.

"Give me the key, Vivian," yelled Boris.

Chuck winced. Things had been going so well. "Now _that_ sort of is. I don't suppose you happen to know what key he's talking about?"

Vivian pulled herself from his witty banter and warm eyes. _Right_. Bullets. Life. Key? "No."

"Of course you don't. So I guess you don't know why he thinks Volkoff gave it to you, then. He seems to have given you everything else."

Chuck couldn't miss the pain in her eyes, a match for the bitterness in her voice earlier, as she said, "I haven't seen him in years."

Chuck could feel her loss, wondering why. "But you do know him?"

"Of course I know him," she said. "He's my father."

* * *

**A/N2 **As I rewrite this episode, I become aware of all the things that are wrong with it. Where the hell did the horse go, when Boris started shooting? Did they really fly her from England to castle, then back to England, and Boris believed she would just go out riding all by herself? This is why I write these things.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N **A little shorter than the others. So much of the Masquerade was devoted to other plot lines.**  
**

* * *

"_Chuck, answer me!"_

"_Who the hell is Vivian McArthur?"_

"_Not if I can help it."_

"_He's my father."_

* * *

Vivian had no idea where she was. The firefight in the garage and the whirlwind escape had left her as drunk as any 'several large glasses of wine' had ever done.

The woman called Sarah, to whose legs Vivian had clung, stabilizing her as she stood in a moving car, seemed unmoved by the carnage. Her partners, the ones who covered them while they ran for the vehicle, seemed to almost take joy in it, if the jokes and insults they traded were any indication. Only Chuck, adding 'professional driver' to his impressive resume, showed any human warmth, sparing her a quick wink while his team dove into the back seats, looking just a little bit nervous. Strangely, that eased her own fears even as her car did things the owner's manual said it couldn't under his hands. He kept it from acquiring any bullet holes, but still she suspected its trade-in value was much reduced.

"You're very good," she'd said, awkwardly twisted around to avoid looking back or especially up.

"Thanks," he'd replied with a grin. "This 'driving on the left' thing is really hard." Under the circumstances, the tired old joke was even funny.

After the escape, the team had taken it in turns, driving through the night. She stayed safely in the back, with an agent on one side and Chuck on the other. He seemed to know the words to every Monty Python sketch ever made, and most of the songs too, but his British accent, so impeccable at the bar, was terribly bad in the back seat.

The garage took her by surprise, as the growing light of dawn was suddenly eclipsed, and the car came to an abrupt halt. "Everybody out!" ordered the big agent, rudely.

Only Chuck seemed as confused as she. "Where are we, Casey?" he asked, courteously offering her a hand out of the back seat.

"Vacation cottage," said the other man. "Your MI6 buddy found it for us."

From the look on his face, and the glance he shared with Sarah, it was quite clear that Chuck would not have exactly claimed friendship with whomever it was they were talking about. Now here she was, sitting at a kitchen table in a nondescript room, her head spinning once again. "My father isn't a psychopathic monster, he's an oil company executive."

"Almost worse," grunted Casey, cleaning his guns.

Another tired old joke, not very funny. Chuck made a little noise in his throat and pulled out his map of the true ownership of her home, while Casey took the hint and left the room.

* * *

Morgan went about his business as usual, or as usual as it can be when surrounded by alien invaders. If he still was. How could he know?

He spotted a couple getting ready to leave and went over to thank them for their patronage. As they walked away, he swiped a piece of leftover bread. A few paces later he threw pieces of it on the floor and kept walking. After a five count he turned and looked.

Still there.

Oh, thank God. Well, God and Colonel Casey. "Hey, Sam? We need a broom by table six."

"Sure thing, Mr. Grimes." As Morgan left for his office and a well-earned collapse, Sam called over the busboy. "Okay, _now_ you can clean up the bread."

* * *

Casey walked in on a briefing in progress. "How did she take the news?" asked Beckman.

"She seemed genuinely upset, General," said Sarah, answering the real question. "I believe she was truly unaware of her father's real business."

"And now?"

"Bartowski's walking her through it as we speak," said Casey.

"I don't envy him that," said the General. "Now. What's your plan? Obviously she can't go home again."

* * *

"I have to go back home," said Vivian.

"No-o-oo," said Chuck, not a command so much as the Universe screaming its denial through him. "Boris knows where you live, he'll be waiting for you there!"

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why would he be waiting for me there?" she asked reasonably. "You and your team rescued me with a hail of bullets. Wouldn't home be the last place I would go?"

"Unless he thinks that's exactly what we'd think," said Chuck, tapping the table. "But you're right, no real agent would ever go back to a burned safehouse."

Wrong choice of words. "They burned it? I had guests!" _And Artemis!_

He took her hands in his. "No, no, that's just what they call it when a safe house is no longer safe." He tried to let her go. "Your guests should be fine, better, in fact, once you left. These guys are pros, they had no reason to threaten anyone else." Boris had spent time among them, and had to know how little anyone knew of their hostess.

His words comforted her, but only a little, and she released him. "I have to go back, I have to look after my horse. I have to make the rounds and apologize, it's the done thing." Not that being a socialite was ever high on her to-do list.

"You'll be the done thing!" said Chuck, making several violent gestures in the space between them. "Boris was one of those guests, once he hears you're back he'll be after you like a shot."

"And you'll be there." She gazed earnestly into his face. "Won't you?"

It wasn't hard to catch her meaning. "You'd let them use you as bait?"

_No one uses me. _"I don't like being hunted, but I've no experience being the hunter." _I'm using you. _She cocked her head to one side, confused. "What did you mean, 'them'?"

Them? Oh. _That_ them. "I'm…not an agent. I'm just the team analyst, the C-and-C guy. I was supposed to stay behind the bar, but you left the party and I couldn't be left exposed."

His admission recast everything that had happened last night in an entirely new mould. Shock and shame, that she'd pulled him into danger. Amazement at how deftly he'd pulled her out of it. She took his hands in hers. "You didn't look 'just' anything to _me_ last night, Mr. Charles." And if he was 'just an analyst', how good must their agents be?

The C-and-C guy stared at her, speechless and thoughtless. "Uh," he said, trying to pull his hands away. He fell back on his usual default, with a number three smile. "Please. Call me Chuck."

No man had ever smiled at her like that, not even her father. "Okay, Chuck. Will you help me, Chuck? I've got to _do_ something, got to…_be_ someone."

He wanted to tell her 'Stay in the car, Vivian', but he couldn't. He just had to figure out a way that no one else could.

* * *

"I want you home, Frost."

"I want to _be_ home, Alexei," said the woman called Frost with utter sincerity in her voice. "Between money and Packard's…inventive methods of persuasion, we've gotten just about everything we're going to get here. Three deaths, three bullets. Jurek's car, disabled. Antonia's gun, empty of bullets. And Christoph–"

"What about Christoph?" growled Volkoff.

"He was…sweaty," said Frost. "His dinner was partially eaten, but he reeked of cheap vodka."

Volkoff's voice got so low the phone vibrated in her hands. "Drink is not one of his vices."

Frost knew what those were, as well as he did. "But it is a crutch to a frightened man."

"Not many things frighten Christoph." Volkoff was proud to be one of them. "You think he talked?"

"Of course he talked," said Frost immediately. They wanted him to talk, or at least she did. Passwords could be replaced, but good lieutenants were much harder to come by. "He knew what Boris could be like. The question is, what did he talk about?"

Alexei Volkoff looked at his second screen, displaying a minor sidebar piece about a party in England. Nothing to worry about there, his enemies had that one well in hand. Boris was the wildcard now. "Never you mind. Come home now, Frost. Let Packard continue with this business, you have to take over the Panzer operation. He goes into Yucca Mountain today."

Frost knew all about Boris' operations, especially the secret ones. "The Chandler woman?"

"That wench cost me a half a billion dollars!"

"True, but killing her wouldn't be nearly as soul-crushingly satisfying as letting her live in that hell-hole. You could let her rot a bit, then finish her off."

"I considered that," said Alexei. "But Boris has killed off some of my ablest men, not to mention the loss of Sofia. I need to do some recruiting, and Mr. Panzer will do nicely."

If so, it would be the only thing she ever heard of Panzer doing nicely. "Do you think he has the capacity?"

Volkoff growled contemplatively into the phone. He had quite a variety of growls. "He performed well for the Ring in the past, until he ran afoul of Carmichael. What a blessing for us that those two destroyed each other."

"And a blessing for this Mr. Charles."

If Volkoff was angry at the reminder, it didn't show in his voice. He changed the subject, though. "At the very least, if he is no more than the gorilla he appears, he can free up one of my other men to advance."

"What if he fails?" Not that she needed to ask.

"Then he stays." Nothing like a little incentive.

* * *

"Can I just go on record as saying I hate this idea?"

"You said it in front of the General, Casey, I think that's 'on record' enough," said Carina. "If anyone should be complaining it's me. You actually like the dress-up and the face-paint and the lying in grass. I got called out of Monaco to wait in a tree?"

"Dibs!" yelled Chuck.

"Di–Nuts!"

"What?" asked Vivian.

"I got my innuendo first," said Chuck. "Radio silence, people. It's hard to set a trap when the cage is screaming 'look at me' to everyone on our frequency."

"Speaking of frequency–"

"Shut it, Miller."

Miller shut it, and so did Casey. Chuck let out a sigh. "Lesson twenty-two."

"Twenty-two?" asked Vivian, from the shadows of the stable.

"Blessed silence," answered Sarah, adjusting the locket around her neck as she strode up to Artemis . She mounted as Vivian would have, without a block. Chuck moved back into the building as she rode off slowly, taking Artemis for his morning exercise.

"Can I just go on record as saying I hate this plan?"

Vivian frowned. "It's your plan, isn't it?"

"Yeah it is, but it's not the best."

If there was a better one why weren't they following it? "What's the best?"

"Your enemies all have convenient heart attacks while you're home watching Star Wars on the newly re-re-re-re-re-remastered Blu-Ray edition." Sarah was lost in the distance, and he turned his gaze to the woman closer by. "I do what I can to make sure no one on my team gets hurt, but there's always a chance someone out there is more clever than me-than _I_."

She smiled at his slip, but it didn't last. "It must be hard to care in a business like yours."

His mobile, smiling face went utterly still. "It's harder not to. I don't even want to hurt my enemies, much less my team. They're friends, even family."

"Even Casey?"

The annoying big brother from Home Alone, but yeah. "Even Casey. Just don't tell him I said that."

"Too late."

"Carina!" said Sarah in their ears. "I was enjoying that."

Chuck's hand went to his ear as his face went red. "Hey! What part of radio silence do you not understand?"

"Next time turn off your mike, idiot."

Chuck pounded his head on the stable wall as Vivian sank down on a haybale, laughing.

"I'm at the first marker," said Sarah.

As Vivian watched, the man in front of her transformed with a shiver. No more head-banging, no more jokes. He stood straight, reminding her just how tall he was, and pulled out his gun, checking its readiness.

When he caught her looking at him in surprise, he ostentatiously clicked off his mike long enough to say, "No bullets. Tranq darts." Then he winked at her, the professional driver once more, and turned his mike back on. "Okay team," said Mr. Charles, deadly serious. "Here's where it gets interesting."

* * *

**A/N2 **Have you ever noticed that innuendo is a word that describes itself?**  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** I do all my Volkoff stuff with that wonderful deep baritone rumble in my head. Such a great voice.

This chapter has a lot more stuff from Cubic Zirconium mixed in with it, to cover the dull stuff in Masquerade, like the gunfight and the horse chase. How do you make those things dull? Anyway, CZ and Masquerade were each the third episodes of their respective arcs, so why not. I'd forgotten how much fun stuff there was in CZ.

* * *

"_You're very good."_

"_You'll be the done thing!" _

"_Radio silence, people."_

"_Here's where it gets interesting."_

* * *

"She's down!" said Casey in everyone's ears. "Repeat, Walker is down! I'm moving in to support."

Chuck almost panicked, but then Vivian started to rise, and he suppressed the impulse for her sake. _Cool and calm, Bartowski, cool and calm_. "Do you need assistance?" he asked, waving her back to her seat.

"Negative," said Casey. "Stick to the plan. Fifteen seconds."

"What happened, Casey?" asked Carina, because Chuck–sorry, _Mr. Charles_–wouldn't, not with a civilian on the network. "Was she shot?"

"Didn't hear one," said the big man, a little out of breath as he moved and talked at the same time. "The horse just reared and threw her."

Chuck turned to look at Vivian, eyebrow raised.

"That's not possible," she said. "Artemis has been extensively trained. She'd never rear unless she was commanded, and your agent doesn't know the command."

Chuck nodded, and she felt a bit of relief, that he wasn't somehow holding her responsible for his agent's fall.

"Be alert, Casey," he said. "Boris got sneaky, and went for the horse rather than the rider. Overrode its training somehow, don't know how."

Casey didn't respond, and when Chuck heard the sound of his rifle firing in the distance he knew why.

* * *

Alexei Volkoff was used to his mere presence capturing the attention of everyone, in whatever room he chose to enter. Well, everyone except Frost, who could keep her focus on the objective under any circumstances. It was one of her more valuable abilities, as it made her one of the few who could offer him objective advice, offer criticisms of his schemes in the planning stage. No one else had the courage to ignore him.

She wasn't ignoring him now. "What's the matter, Frost?"

"Boris' plan was rash, and ill-considered."

He appreciated her circumspection. No plan would have been put into operation without his approval, but by phrasing it the way she did, they could blame its failings on a known traitor. "How so?"

"I spotted three separate failure points in the timeline, with inadequate failsafes. The truck breaking down in the desert was the least of them."

"The truck was supposed to break down in the desert."

"Yes, it was." She pointed to a map. "Here, where we could stage a helicopter for extraction once the operation was complete."

He nodded. That area had gaps in its coverage that they could exploit. When the bodies were discovered, especially hers, preferably chewed on by a variety of scavengers, the blame would correctly go on Panzer, but the manhunt would be in entirely the wrong place.

Frost moved her hand considerably up the line of the desert highway. "Unfortunately the truck has already broken down, here."

_Bollocks. _Too close to LA. "Can we extract by land?"

She shook her head. "Too easy to clog the exits, they do it themselves a dozen times a day."

They couldn't just abort the mission. No one lied to Alexei Volkoff, but Alexei Volkoff lied to no one. He'd made a pact with this devil and by God he would keep it. "What support _can_ we give our Mr. Panzer?" Of course she would know, her plans were never ill-considered, but he only had one of her, and this operation wasn't that important.

He could use another like her, but where could he find another such treasure?

Frost smiled. "Their nearest support facility is Castle, in Burbank. The truck is limping there now."

Volkoff grinned. Castle, of all places! Panzer would need no support, beyond that which his enemies would supply in buckets. Chandler was as good as dead. "May God have mercy on her soul." His grin faded. "Because I will not."

* * *

Vivian couldn't just sit anymore. Someone had been attacked in her place, injured because of her. She stood in the shadows, pacing. Pacing for two, since Mr. Charles was quite steady. She envied him. "I see what you mean, about your enemies being clever."

Mr. Charles took in a deep breath, let it out again. "Anyone can be sneaky once. It's who's sneaky most, who's sneaky _last_, that matters." _My mind is a raging torrent, rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives!_

"Chuck, microphone," said Carina.

"Dammit!" He toggled his mike off.

Vivian interrupted him, pointing a finger out the stable door. "Here comes Artemis!" She ran out before Chuck could stop her.

The horse slowed in the familiar setting, when she saw a familiar face. Vivian ran her hands over the animal, calming it and looking for any wounds it may have suffered. "She's not hurt. I think anything that would make her rear would leave a mark, or a wound."

"She wasn't injured, that's the important thing." Chuck was glad to hear it. "You should get back inside now, Vivian. You can't be seen here."

Vivian ran back inside.

"We're under cover," said Casey. "Walker's alive, but out of it. Incoherent."

Casey stopped talking and started firing again, as Vivian ran out of the stables once more, this time with a riding cap on. She swung herself up into the saddle before Chuck could stop her.

"What are you _doing_?"

She looked down at him, determined and terrified. "Something."

"They'll kill you." Another shot punctuated his statement.

"No they won't." Vivian turned and pointed. "They'll kill _her_, because she's not me. I'm the one person here they won't kill, not immediately, and I think we should use that."

He looked like he was trying to come up with a counterargument and failing.

She reached a hand down. "Are you coming, Chuck?"

He flashed, grabbed her hand, and swung up behind her as if he'd been born in the saddle. "Just don't die on me, please, the paperwork's awful."

Vivian laughed, and slapped the reins. "Hyaah!"

"Casey, we're on our way," he said, before the accelerating horse drove any thoughts beyond simply holding on from his mind. Such as, for instance, turning on his mike.

* * *

"Yes, Frost?"

"We just got the alternate signal from Mr. Panzer, Alexei."

Volkoff chuckled. "Escaped a holding cell already, has he? Very good. I expect to hear good news very shortly, Frost," he said eagerly, then his voice dropped, "Even if it is only the news of Miss Chandler's tragic demise."

"You were really looking forward to the wolves, weren't you, Alexei?" said Frost sympathetically.

He nodded, then remembered that she was on speaker. "Or some form of wildlife! Bleached bones just won't do." Half a billion really called for something…_special._

"LA is the smoggiest city in the world." Not a lot of bleaching possibilities there.

"You don't suppose they have any rats, do you?" he asked hopefully.

"It's a city, Alexei. It's got more rats than people, and probably in better health. But they take time, and even the Castle team should be able to recover the body before they can do much."

He made a little noise in his throat. That level of ineptitude _was_ too much to hope for. "Too bad we can't send Yuri." Solve both problems at once. That's what Frost should be working on, getting the Gobbler back, not this…trivia. _Damn_ Boris for all the trouble he was causing!

"I'll see what I can do to hack into the system, maybe I can get you some video."

That brought a smile to his face. "You're so good to me, Frost," he said softly.

"I'll only be a minute."

* * *

Chuck looked behind them. The two riders in their classic gear had not lost them, they'd simply left the trail to cut the distance. "They're gaining," he shouted over the pounding of Artemis' hooves on the packed earth.

"You're thinking going out into the open was a mistake," said Vivian, because that's what she was thinking. Chuck and his team were professionals! What business did she have being out here?

"Actually, I'm thinking we need to lighten the load," said Chuck. "Keep going. Don't stop for anything." Just like that he was gone, she didn't even feel him jump off. Her load halved, Artemis put on some speed, and Vivian took a look behind her. The two riders had fallen behind, but Mr. Charles was nowhere in sight. Had he fallen, had he hurt himself?

Either way, she couldn't stop now.

* * *

Frost used Panzer's signal as a starting point, backtracking through the network to find the originating server. For a moment she wondered if there was something wrong with their software, since the outermost firewall identified its domain as a Buy More sub-net. When she burned through that she realized the ploy for the work of genius that it was, the Buy More's own systems hiding her target under a profusion of mismatched software.

She was Frost. She persevered. She overcame.

"Welcome to the Castle Mainframe Interface," said the computer's speaker in a pleasant female monotone. "How may I help you?"

Voice-activated security? Since when? "What the hell is this?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Please identify yourself for access."

She had no files prepared. "Um…"

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that. Please identify yourself for access."

She hit the intercom for the main office. "Alexei, there's been a delay, it'll take a few more minutes."

"Very good, Frost."

"I'm sorry," said the computer. "I didn't get that. Did you say 'Mary could, Grost'?"

"Did I say _what?_ No!..." Who _built_ this thing?

"I'm sorry, I didn't get that…"

* * *

"'_Carina and Davis, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G'…" _Carina stopped humming. At least that would have been more interesting than what she was doing, which was nothing. Was sex in a tree even possible? One way to find out…

The sound of pounding hoofbeats drew her out of her salacious musings. _Showtime._ At least, she hoped it was showtime. Vivian, and she was alone. Where'd Chuck go?

_Sarah fell down and bumped her head, nimrod. Where do you _think_ Chuck went?_

The horse turned up the lane to the stable, and Carina lifted her rifle and took aim.

* * *

"Clear the room."

When Frost said to leave, you left. When the room was empty of people, she pulled out her scrambler and foxed any eyes that someone may have tried to plant. Then she leaned in real close to her speaker.

"Castle Mainframe, this is Mary Elizabeth Bartowski, code name Frost, override code zero-zero-zero-alpha-zero. Do you understand _that_, you stupid machine?"

The computer understood something, but all the flashing lights in the world couldn't tell her what. "Greetings, Mary Elizabeth Bartowski," said the computer at last. "According to our records, you are presumed dead. We are sorry for your loss. Access is granted. Have a nice day."

* * *

Vivian looked behind her one last time, but saw no one following. Chuck must have done something, hopefully he was still alive to tell her what. She allowed Artemis to slow as they approached the lane, and turned towards home.

* * *

When the man strolled out of the stable, Carina heard nothing. "Guys, Boris is here but I'm getting no signal from Vivian. Her mike is off or she lost her earpiece."

"Do you have a shot?" said Casey.

"Not a great one. I'd be shooting over her shoulder." And she couldn't tell Vivian to move.

"Don't take it unless you have to. Wait for a better shot or–"

"Artemis is up!"

Boris flung himself back, away from iron-shod horse's hooves that were as dangerous as any sledgehammer to the skull. This put him clearly and cleanly in Carina's field of fire, and she fired.

Boris flew backward, his chest exploding in gore.

"Holy crap, she shot him," said Carina. If she hadn't been strapped to the branch she'd have fallen off in surprise. "Repeat, Vivian shot Boris! Shotgun to the chest."

"That'll leave a mark," said Casey. "We've got seven down out here, but we'll need a pick-up. My transport is for one man only. I've got our fearless numbskull here, and her fearless numbskull husband. Good thing I recognized his panicked flailing about as he stumbled out of the bushes or it'd be nine dead."

Nine? Oh. "You wouldn't try to run instead, Casey?"

"You think it would do any good?"

Sarah had chased her into a holding cell, and that was just for getting Chuck captured. "No." Carina started unbuckling herself. "On my way."

* * *

"What do you _mean_, Panzer failed?" asked Volkoff, his voice hard enough to grind wheat. "The Chandler woman is still alive?"

Fortunately the cameras on the parking lot were not nearly as secure as the Castle Mainframe. They clearly showed both prisoners being loaded into a new transport. "I'm afraid so, Alexei. He got caught in a riot."

"A riot in a Buy More?"

"This surprises you?"

For a second he said nothing, then, "No. No it doesn't."

"Apparently the store manager pegged him as an instigator and tasered him down."

Volkoff laughed into the phone. "Today just wasn't our day, was it, Frost?" Or Panzer's, long may he rot.

"I'm afraid not, Alexei. Shall I continue after Boris?"

He let her change the subject. "No, leave that to Packard. You concentrate on getting Yuri back. With him at my side I won't need my lieutenants."

_Good to know. _"As you wish."

* * *

"Did Boris say anything more about this key he was looking for?"

Vivian Vol–McArthur paused in the act of clipping her locket back around her neck. Then she continued, her head tilted down. "Uh, no, no he didn't," she said to his feet. "He just called me a weak, indecisive, girl."

"Well, one out of three ain't bad," said Chuck, smiling to his companions and to her. He took her hand warmly in his own. "Congratulations. I think you're well on your way."

"To where?"

"Wherever you want to go, whatever you want to be," said Chuck. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

Even Casey shook her hand respectfully on the way out.

* * *

"Here you go, Mrs. Bartowski," said Chuck, sliding the ring back on Sarah's finger as they sat together in the back seat.

She admired it with joy. "No more Walker," said Sarah, kissing him. "Much as I love working with you, Chuck, separate names are too much of a price to pay." Her phone rang, and she checked the screen. "It's Hannah."

Chuck left her to it. He looked around. Casey was looking all taciturn, as usual, and he was driving, while Carina was…"Are you all right?"

She didn't smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. Just wondering what the weather's like in Monaco."

"We needed you here."

"Did you?"

"Absolutely," he said with complete sincerity. "You were the endgame, the final piece of the plan! No way Boris would come out of the woodwork unless he thought we'd all left Vivian alone, that's why I needed you to be there."

Carina looked back out the window. "Yeah, well, _she _sure didn't need me."

Chuck put a hand on her shoulder. "I didn't say she did. I said we did."

"That's great!" shrieked Sarah, suddenly, and they looked at her. "Hannah's gotten engaged!"

Chuck's congratulations were enthusiastic, while Casey just grunted politely. "How'd it happen?" asked Carina, once Sarah had ended the call. It didn't take too long, Hannah was making the rounds. "Balloons, champagne, and a horse-drawn carriage at her favorite restaurant?"

Sarah shuddered. "Please. Remind me to tell you about my parent's proposal. Better yet, don't remind me. No, it wasn't terribly romantic at all, took her by complete surprise. They had a prisoner escape, but he ran into a riot at the Buy More and they caught him again."

Chuck's brows went up. "A riot in the Buy More?"

"That surprises you?"

For a second Chuck said nothing, then, "No. No it doesn't."

"Well, anyway, after it was all over, he says he hears something, and starts looking around. He moved behind her and by the time she turned around, there he was, on his knee with a ring in his hand! She said he looked almost as surprised as she was."

"Wow," said Carina, deadpan. "How…romantic."

"Yeah," said Sarah. "Like you would know anything about romance."

"I happen to have a very romantic soul, I'll have you know! The Ring ploy is my favorite scam!"

They all just groaned and shook their heads.

"What?"

* * *

Vivian watched them drive away, watched the dust kicked up by their vehicles settle. She took the locket from inside her blouse and looked at the inscription, "Love, Daddy."

She put it away again. She knew what she wanted.

* * *

**A/N2 **Which is more than I can say for me. Vivian is so undefined it's hard to say what she really wants, but I guess I'll figure it out as I go, like usual.**  
**


End file.
